


Self-Restraint

by Lyciuum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, No Angst, Praise Kink, Rimming, Top John, only happy things happen in this universe, the author is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyciuum/pseuds/Lyciuum
Summary: John tries to be a good boyfriend, but he just can't keep his hands off Sherlock. Maybe there's a reason why...





	

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I've been in a slump with winter/election/season 4 fiasco. NEW PLAN: write it out!  
> It's going to be All Fluff, All The Time for a bit here. :)

John Watson is the poster boy for self-restraint. He has a figurative fuck ton of will power. He is full up on self discipline. 

So why can't he keep his hands off Sherlock's cock?

He tries. Oh god he tries. And fails every time. 

He wants to blame it on the new relationship excitement, but looking back, he's never felt like this before. Not with women. Not with men. 

He'll say to himself,  _Okay, John. We are just going to watch some telly and cuddle. That's all. You've already initiated sex twice today, that is certainly enough. Let the man rest._  And before he knows it, his hand is sliding down the front of Sherlock's jim-jams. 

Bad John. 

But tonight, he's going to be Good Boyfriend John. He's going to cuddle up his man, and he is not going to grab his cock. Or arse. Or suck on his neck. That long pale stretched out neck. And oh for the love of fuck, there goes his hand again. 

"Mmmm that's nice." 

"Are you sure? You looked tired." 

"Sleep is boring. Your hand is not." 

John slowly runs his fingers over Sherlock's rapidly filling cock. "Are you sure? I don't want to be too demanding." 

"Look at me, John. I define demanding. If I don't want it, I'll let you know." 

 "Promise?"

"Yes. Now don't stop." 

And there went the night. 

\------------------

_Okay, new day, John. Breakfast. The key is to not think about sex. You had sex three times yesterday. Certainly you can avoid it for 24 hours. Or at least 12. You can sit here and eat like a mature responsible adult. Don't think about last night. Don't think about last night._

_Don't think about last night._

But, much like thinking about pink elephants, John's brain fills with images of Sherlock stretched out on his back, pale skin on dark sheets, John crawling on top of him...and there goes his hand again. He really should keep that fucker on a leash. 

"God, Sherlock, I'm sorry. I can't keep my hands off you." 

"I should hope not, John." 

"There's such a thing as restraint. And I don't want you to feel pressured." 

"John, you're an idiot." 

"Thanks. I'm aware." 

"No, you misunderstand me. You're an idiot because you're sorry. Now, if you're really quite done eating, I'd like to suck you off under this kitchen table." 

And there went the morning. 

\---------------------

_A case! Just what Good Boyfriend John needs! Focus on the case, and we'll be fine. A nice long case. No sex during a case. That_ has _to be a rule_. 

"Lestrade, good to see you." 

"John. Nice hickey" 

"Oh well, you know. Dating more." 

"I like the matching one on Sherlock as well."

John flushes, pointedly not staring at Sherlock. "What's that now?"

"Just taking the piss, mate. Glad to see you got it sorted." 

"Who won the pool then?"

"Molly." 

"Molly? She doesn't even work there!"

"Yeah, but she's taking me out to dinner so I can't complain." 

John raises his eyebrows as Sherlock comes up behind him. 

"Yes, yes. Lestrade and Molly are shagging. John and I are shagging. At least three of your other officers are shagging, and more interestingly, all together at the same time. Now tell me about the case..." 

And he tries to focus. He really does. But then there's Sherlock bending over the body, and that godsdamned arse is right there, and he feels his hand twitching.  

_Oh fuck no._  John tucks his hands deep in his pockets and walks around to the other side, ignoring Sherlock's questioning glance. 

"Lestrade, this is clearly an accident caused by an idiot's idea of romance. Find the fiancé and pull the engagement ring out of her lung. Let's go, John." 

He follows Sherlock to the street, catching up as the cab pulls up to the kerb. Sliding in next to Sherlock, he focuses on the view out the window. He almost doesn't even notice his hand sliding across the seat to graze Sherlock's leg. _Oh good god no._ Still pissed at himself for the crime scene, he slides all the way to the far side of the bench, tucks his hands in his lap, and refuses to look at Sherlock the rest of the way back to Baker street.  

After paying for the cab, John follows Sherlock up the stair, almost reaching out for his plush arse, embarrassment keeping his hands in check. 

"Sherlock, I'm going to bed. Goodnight." 

"John. Wait. What did I do?" 

"What?"

"You're angry. You don't want to look at me. What did I do? Is it what I said to Lestrade? If you didn't want to tell anyone...I didn't think you were embarrassed but.."

"God no! Sherlock, I want to tell the whole fucking world we're together, that you're mine. And I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself. I...I keep touching you and I don't want to pressure you." 

"Ah. In that case, I think you may actually be angry with me."

"No, I'm pretty sure by now I know when I'm mad at you. Happens often enough." 

"Well then, I have a confession. I've been observing you. Any every time I see you resolve yourself to keep your 'hands to yourself', as it were, I've been enticing you to touch me." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I've noticed you trying. And I've purposely been enticing you." 

"How have you been 'enticing' me?" 

"Stretching. Unbuttoning. Bending. There was a rather useful article online...something called Teen Vogue, I believe....quite excellent political coverage as well, to my surprise." 

"Teen what? You what? Wait. So this whole time I've been feeling bad, and it turns out you were teasing me, trying to get me to start something? Why didn't you just say something? Or touch me?" 

"I didn't realize I could." 

"Of course you can, you berk." 

"Oh. Anytime?"

"Yes. And if I'm not in the mood I'll tell you. And we'll do it later." 

"And I will do the same?"

"Oh course." 

"Oh." 

John pauses, eyeing Sherlock up and down. He straightens, falling naturally into parade rest. 

"So, Sherlock, as usual, I believe this whole thing is your fault. And I think you need to be taught a lesson about making me worry."

Sherlock stills, and opens his mouth to say something. John winks. Sherlock shuts his mouth. Opens it. Shuts it. And slowly nods, eyes never leaving John. 

"You put me in charge of this relationship, Sherlock, and you've been naughty. I really must punish you for it," he says with a smirk.  He glances at Sherlock who's standing mouth open, eyes blown wide, nodding vigorously. 

"Yes sir. I've been very bad." 

Oh god, that went straight to his cock. _Well this is new!_ John's brain starts spinning, rewriting the plan from "take out the rubbish" to "take me now". 

"Go into the bedroom. Undress, kneel by the bed, and wait."

Sherlock flushes, turns on his heel, and obeys. Obeys. He actually obeys. _Oh Christ, keep your shit together, John. Don't fuck this up now. Slow._

He lets Sherlock simmer as he hangs up their coats, straightens the shoes by the door, and fails to ignore his cock hardening in his pants. He tries to check a few emails, but five minutes later finds him at the bedroom door in his bare feet, straining against his zip. 

He opens the door, half expecting a bored Sherlock, lounging on the bed, distracted by a dust pattern, or something equally trivial. To his surprise, and unreserved pleasure, what he finds is a naked, hard, flushed Sherlock kneeling on the floor, head bowed. 

He strokes the back of Sherlock's neck, gently pulling at his curls. "Christ that's a pretty sight. But it doesn't make up for worrying me, does it?" 

"No sir." 

"And since you won't ask me nicely for it, I'm going to make you get on your knees and beg me for it." 

He kneels, running his hands down Sherlock's back from shoulder to the pert crescent of his arse. He cups and squeezes the soft, lush curves as he sucks on a long, pale neck. 

"Oh baby, how you are going to beg." 

John massages deeper, stroking into his lover's cleft. Sherlock presses back, a soft keening coming from his chest. 

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

A low moan rumbles through the room. 

"Use your words - tell me what you want me to do to you."

Another groan. 

And that's it. _Smack._ John's hand lands on Sherlock's arse, and Sherlock jumps in surprise. 

"Tell me what you want. Now." 

"Yes, sir," he says brokenly, "I want your tongue." 

"Good boy. And where do you want it?" 

"I, uh, I," Sherlock stammers breathlessly.  

_Smack._ This time harder, a red flash against pale skin. 

"Now." 

"Your tongue. Your tongue in my arse." 

"Well done. That's my genius. Now don't move or I'll be very cross." 

"Yes sir." 

John positions his lover's hands up over the bed, and instantly Sherlock grabs the coverlet, flushed and panting. John pushes him forward until he's up on his knees, chest stretched across the mattress. 

He spreads Sherlock's arse and begins to lick. He laps at Sherlock's hole, tongue flicking across in little kitten licks as Sherlock moans above. He flicks his tongue into Sherlock's arse and hears a hoarse gasp. He begins to lick in earnest, dipping in and out, until he feels movement from the bed.

He pulls back to see Sherlock's hand stroking at his own cock. 

_Smack._  "If you can't follow simple directions then we will have to tie up your hands to help you be good." He looks at Sherlock, who had frozen, and grazes his cheek with his thumb. "Yes?" he whispers 

Nodding from Sherlock. "Yes sir. I've been so naughty. Help me be good. Tie me up." 

Oh Christ, John could have come right then. That fucking voice. Those fucking words. 

"Get up on the bed. Hands and knees."

Sherlock pants, too stunned to move. John grabs Sherlock bodily and hauls him onto the bed on his hands and knees. 

"Now, if you can be good for me, we're both going to enjoy this. If not, only I am going to leave satisfied. Do you understand?" 

"Yes sir. I understand."

"Good, now, hands on the headboard, do not move."

Sherlock grabs the headboard, fingers white. 

"Good boy. I knew you could be good for me, my brilliant man."

Sherlock's whole body shudders in response. 

"Now, if you can't keep your hands there, I'll tie them there, but I'll be very disappointed."

John smacks him again, watching as Sherlock's skin flushes a deep red. He doesn't wait for a reply. Sherlock is shaking, moaning insensibly, and at this point, he's not sure Sherlock could give a rational response. 

"Now, stay still."

John grabs the lube off the bedside table and sits back on his heels between Sherlock's legs. He uncaps the top, and covers his fingers. He slowly circles Sherlock's hole with his left hand, right hand stroking up and down his partner's thigh and back. He presses one finger into Sherlock, who groans and rocks back into his hand. 

_Smack._ "I told you, stay still." 

Sherlock cries out, "Please, please, please John, please." 

And John, who hasn't heard that many pleases in the entire time he's known Sherlock, knows he's helpless to resist. He slides another finger into Sherlock, pressing forward until he finds the hard little nub, and Sherlock practically screams, "Oh fuck, John, there. Oh fuck, please, please fuck me." 

"That's it, tell me what you want."

"Please, you inside me, now. I need to feel you."

John stretches him wider with his two fingers, pulling out slightly and adding a third. He pumps in and out, Sherlock gasping with each thrust. 

"Maybe I should just keep you like this, as punishment for enticing me," he teases, fingers ghosting over Sherlock's prostate. 

"No, please, I need to you to...oh please. Please, please, fuck me."

John pulls out, wiping his fingers on the coverlet, and unbuttons his flies, slipping out of his jeans and pants. He slicks up his cock with more lube, and lines it up with Sherlock's open, pink hole. He presses in slowly, breathing in and out with the man below him.  

"Fuck, Sherlock, that feels amazing." John presses in slowly, sinking deep into Sherlock's arse. He grabs Sherlock by the hips, and slowly pulls out, pauses, and thrusts back in. 

"This is what good geniuses get if they ask nicely, Sherlock. Do you think you can ask nicely next time?"

Sherlock moans in response. 

_Smack._ "Can you ask nicely, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Yes. John, god yes."

"Good man." He thrusts in and out, setting a punishing pace, each stroke brushing over Sherlock's prostate, never quite enough. 

Sherlock gasps beneath him, "Please, please John, please I need to come."

"You've done such a good job, taking my cock so nicely, I think I will let you come." He reaches one hand around to Sherlock's cock, hard and dripping onto the bed. He strokes his hand firmly over the head while thrusting into his arse again and again. He feels Sherlock tensing under him, muscles clenching around John's cock. Warm come fills his hand, and John's rhythm falters as his own orgasm crests over him. 

"Sherlock, oh fuck Sherlock, fuck!" he groans out his release, coming hard into Sherlock's arse. 

He slows, sliding his hands over Sherlock's back and hips, and gently withdraws, pulling Sherlock to the bed with him. They curl up, John wrapped around Sherlock's back, legs intertwining as their breathing slows. 

"Now, Sherlock, what did we learn from this?"

Sherlock, still flushed, looks over his shoulder with a cheeky grin, "I like being punished."

John snorts, pulling his lover in close. He's just drifting off when he hears, "Maybe next time, if I'm really bad, you'll have to use the riding crop." He cuddles Sherlock in his arms, and falls asleep. 


End file.
